


Unfinished Business

by Margaritaville08



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghost Bucky, Ghosts, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, basically Bucky wants Steven for his ghostly self, ghost bucky is a little shit and haunts steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margaritaville08/pseuds/Margaritaville08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically I read a thing on tumblr and this happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"what if a ghost is in love with me and is using its powers to keep boys away from me because that would explain a lot"</p>
<p>Steve / Bucky </p>
<p>Bucky is a ghost that haunts Steve and doesn't let anybody date him. Basically he is a little shit with unfinished business that involves saving Steve from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and written with great difficulty on my iPad so I apologize for any mistakes

Steven Rogers didn't believe in ghosts. He didn't believe in ghosts, or curses, or superstitions but recently he was beginning to believe in bad luck. He couldn't fault the fact that his fellow classmates didn't find him attractive in high school, as a 90 pound asthmatic with bad vision and an uncanny ability of coming down with every common cold known to man, it was no surprise that Steve was lacking in the romance department. Steve didn't mind being a loner, content to suffer through the four long years of high school on his own. Unlike most of his classmates he knew that it got better after high school, that most of the people claiming to be friends for life would lose interest in each other once off at their different colleges. 

The only time anyone had ever taken an interest in him was when the captain of the lacrosse team, Zach, was assigned to Steve by their US History teacher to tutor him for the season. Apparently Zach was headed to Hopkins in the fall on a partial scholarship, but only if he increased his gpa and history was his weakest subject. Steve wasn't an idiot and could tell that Zach wasn't exactly thrilled at the concept of having to spend most days after practice with some scrawny kid he'd never taken a second glance at, regardless of the fact that Steve and him had shared at least one class every year since grade school. 

Regardless of the fact that Steve wasn't exactly winning socialite of the year, that didn't mean that he was a pushover. So the third time Zach showed up thirty minutes late with a scowl to match his foul mood Steve had no problem telling him off, stating that just because Zach thought he was hot shit didn't mean that Steve's time didn't matter, because Steve absolutely hated bullies. If Steve hadn't been so pissed off at the cocky captain he would have laughed at the stunned expression on Zach's face, blinking stupidly as Steve told him to leave his house before shutting the door in his face. 

The next day found Zach knocking at his door, sheepishly holding out a bag from Five Guys and offering up an apology that sounded sincere enough to Steve to accept and invite him back into his house. From there on out Zach found himself rather enjoying spending time with the little shrimp that he had never given a second thought. Steve was actually pretty cool, with valid opinions and a fierce loyal streak that had Zach questioning why Steve wasn't more popular and then rolling his eyes at what a hypocrite he was for thinking that.

No matter how Steve and Zach acted in the confines of his home, Steve was still a realist, as well as fairly oblivious, so when their nightly study sessions started taking on a flirty edge, Steve couldn't recognize the difference. He had no idea that, while he was explaining the importance the Battle of Kwajalein to the fighting in the Pacific Theatre, Zach was staring longingly at the smaller boy, wondering how stupid he was for not recognizing Steve sooner and wondering what the repercussions of just leaning over and sealing his lips over Steve's would be. 

School let out for Regents week and Steve stayed for the extra half hour that Zach took to finish his exam, giving him words of encouragement as they waited the week before the grades would be up. Almost a week later found Zach on his doorstep, grinning from ear to ear and picking up Steve in a hug that made breathing hard as he swung the tiny boy from side to side. 

"You did it Steve! I passed! I'm going to Hopkins!"

Steve smiled, grinned along and congratulated him, thankful that all of their hard work had paid off. He watched, confused as Zach's smile fell from his face, his eyes locking onto Steve's as his gaze flicked from his down to his mouth. Steve frowned, thinking that maybe he had something on his face before Zach dipped his head lower, with every intention of kissing the unsuspecting boy.

Steve felt a cold shiver run through him, causing every hair on the back of his neck to stand up right before Zach yelped as if he was in pain and flew back from Steve like he had been schocked. Steve watched as Zach's gaze flicked over Steve's shoulder and all the blood drained from his face before he turned and hightailed it out of there, not even sparing Steve a second glance as he sped off in his Land Rover. 

Steve couldn't help but sigh, he knew that his friendship with the lacrosse captain was going to end eventually, but it still had been nice to have someone to talk to besides his mother. Steve felt another chill go through his body, and the oddest sensation take over him. He could swear that he felt someone watching him, but when he turned to the small entrance hallway there was nobody there. He shook the feeling off with another shiver and turned to walk towards the kitchen, not realizing that he left the front door open, or the fact that it was closed when his mother walked in an hour later.

Steve hoped that college would be better.

Regardless of what Sarah Rogers claimed, Steve knew that leaving her alone to go to a school anywhere outside of New York City was out of the question. His mother had worked herself silly to ensure that Steve never wanted for anything, and that he would be able to attend the college of his choosing, with only a little help from student loans. It didn't stop Steve from only applying to CUNY schools, choosing to attend Hunter College, even getting accepted into the art school on a partial scholarship. 

His first week was interesting, most of his classes were prerequisites that all of the freshman, regardless of their major, had to take. His bio 101 class found him seated at a lab table with a quiet dark skinned kid named Sam and a frightening red head named Natasha. Right before the first class of the year was about to start a rumpled looking kid named Clint barged into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes regardless of the fact that it was rounding one in the afternoon, and plopped himself down next to Natasha earning him a scowl in return. 

Bio lab was one of the only classes where he could really talk to his fellow classmates and he found himself falling into an odd comradery with his lab partners, listening as Sam talked quietly about his summer internship working in New Zealand for the department of conservation cataloging the different bird species. He realized in about two seconds that Natasha and Clint had known each other, it was obvious by their verbal sparring and constant love/hate jabs towards one another. When the duo invited Steve and Sam out for lunch after the next class they both agreed and little did Steve know that lunch would spark the beginnings of a very odd and fierce friendship. 

It was halfway through the first semester when Steve invited the group over on a Friday night, his mother was working the night shift and wouldn't be back until late the next morning. Clint had managed to score them a bottle of Jack Daniels, because as it turned out Clint was actually a Junior and therefore legally able to buy alcohol, he had just failed introductory bio more times than he could count. Sarah Rogers knew that Steve's friends would be spending the night, and she wasn't a fool either so she know that they would probably be drinking, although she couldn't find it in herself to care, glad that someone was finally seeing her Steve for the man that she always knew him to be.

The gang sat around the television, watching reruns of Friends and taking swigs directly from the bottle, Natasha was the only one who didn't grimace while swallowing the whiskey, murmuring something about Russian winters and vodka when asked about it. As the bottle emptied the conversation turned a bit more risqué and somewhere after Steve started listing to the side any and all morals left the building.

"No, no, no I'm telling you girls love when you spank them!"

Clints words were slurred and he got a kick in the shin from Natasha for his efforts. Sam snorted into the bottle and shook his head.

"Man, it's a wonder you've ever even gotten laid with an attitude like that."

Clint gave a grin that Steve supposed was supposed to be sexy and waggled his eyebrows and flexed his unimpressive arm muscles at the group.

"Ladies can't resist these guns!"

Steve let out a bark or laughter as Sam and Natasha giggled along causing Clint to glare at the lot of them.

"Alright Rogers, since you have so much to say, what's your best hook up story?"

Steve would later blame the alcohol on the flush that covered his cheeks and neck, but the gang saw right through it.

"Oh don't get shy on us now Rogers. Last week I watched you try to take a swing at a guy twice your size for picking on some kid. Don't tell me that talking about sex makes you bashful."

Steve tried to sputter out a response but one look at Natasha and her perfectly arched eyebrow told him that she had figured it out.

"You've never been with a woman have you?"

Steve let out an embarrassed groan and fell backwards onto the floor, letting his hands come up to cover his face.

"It's not that big of a deal, alright?"

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and apparently Clint got a particular joy out of embarrassing his friends.

"Wait, wait, wait, what'd you mean never? Like never, never?"

Steve glared at his friend and pushed himself up from the floor, snatching the bottle out of Sam's hands and taking a gulp large enough to make his eyes water. 

"Fuck off Clint. It's not that big of a deal."

Clints jaw dropped like Steve had somehow personally insulted him and he shook his head.

"Not a big deal? Steve, you have no idea what you're even missing out on! It's the biggest deal!" 

Just as Steve was going to kindly tell his friend to fuck off again, Clint yelped and turned around, rubbing a place on his back and swearing as he looked around at Natasha and Sam who were sitting on either side of him.

"Which one of you assholes pinched me?"

They both gave him looks like he was crazy and shook their heads, both claiming innocence and rolling their eyes as Clint berated them and then tried to pinch them back in return, momentarily forgetting about Steve's virginity causing Steve to breath a sigh of relief. Steve felt a chill go through him again, and he glanced to the window, frowning when it was closed and locked. 

The night ended with the trio falling asleep on the couch and floor, in various states of drunkenness, leaving Steve to stumble his way to his room, face planting on his bed and sighing as he felt a cool palm brush it's way through his hair, his drunken self paying it no mind as sleep pulled him under. 

The next morning all of his friends awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking, various groans and curses alerting Steve to the fact that they were awake as he pressed down the button on the toaster. Little did he know that the toaster itself was on its last licks, a relic from his parents wedding gifts that was just struggling to hang on while the wiring inside of it had all but corroded away. Steve turned back to the eggs and flipped them before platting some of the bacon that was good and crispy. He paid no mind to the toast until he smelled smoke and the turned to find the toaster in flames.

His mind flew into a panic, his first instinct to throw water on it quickly doused by the reminder to never put out an electric fire with water. But what to do? He had to smother the flames but there was nothing around to do so with, he quickly turned to look for a dishrag, grabbed one out of a drawer and turned back onto to be shocked when the fire was out. Steve shook his head as he examined the charred toaster, sure that he hadn't been hallucenating. The toast shot up from it with a bang that had Steve yelping and jumping back from it, hand over his chest as he stared at the burnt bread.

Clint interrupted him by stumbling into the kitchen, grunting a good morning at him and blindly reaching out for a piece of the burnt toast, shoving it in his mouth and cursing as he spit his mouthful into the sink.

"Jesus, Rogers, haven't you ever cooked toast before?"

Steve could only stare at the toaster as an uneasy feeling settled over him, causing the hair on his arm to stand on end.

"Sorry, toasters broken."

He didn't realize that the window was opened to let out the smell of burnt toast until a few hours later, only then realizing that he hadn't been the one to open it.

Steven Rogers had never really questioned his sexuality. As someone who had never had a lick of interest from the opposite sex he never really had to worry about if a girl was flirting with him because normally the answer would be a resounding 'no'. However, the second semester of college had him rethinking things completely. He was finally taking an art class, Intro to Drawing, and they were moving on from still life to figure drawing. Steve had always found the human body fascinating, the contours and lines and different shapes drawing his eye in like a moth to a flame. So mid semester when his professor announced that they would finally be drawing from a real life model, Steve was vibrating with excitement. When the most beautiful man that Steve had ever seen walked into the room and proceeded to drop trough, Steve's jaw dropped. 

The man was the definition of perfection, his sculpted chest leading down to hip muscles that pointed the way to a very impressive dick. His thighs were muscular and looked like they could support Steve's weight if he lifted him against a wall. Steve felt a flick across the back of his neck that had him snapping out of his little daydream and he turned around, puzzled when there was no one in his vicinity. He turned back to the model with a blush across his cheeks and that night he pleasured himself to the thought of the model's lips wrapped around his cock. 

After Steve's little realization he gets a new outlook on dating. Sure, woman may not have found skinny old Steve attractive but men might, right? He decides to test his theory at one of the many gay bars that frequent the village that hosts an 18 and older night, and judging by the looks he gets as he walks to the bar, his theory might not be that far off. He's getting what he assumes are interested looks, however, in what now seems like clockwork, every guy that gets up to approach him seems to rethink it right before they get to him, wide eyed look on their faces as they high tail it away from him. 

After almost two hours of this Steve gives up and turns around on his barstool, signaling the bartender for a coke and smiling in thanks as he pours a little bit of whiskey into it and makes a "shhh" notion with his fingers. Steve leaves him a large tip and nods his thanks before sulking into his drink.

"Sweetheart, you gotta lighten up!"

Steve looks up to see the same bartender that had poured his drink looking at him thoughtfully.

"What'd you mean?"

He bartender rolls his eyes and looks him up and down.

"You're projecting some creepy stay away from me vibes, my man."

Steve scowls into his drink because seriously, he's just being himself and this guy is telling him that's "creepy". He finishes his drink and leaves, accepting the fact that he shouldn't get his hopes up in the dating world. 

The start of Sophomore year finds Steve in another prerequisite class that had always given him trouble in high school: physical education. Luckily it's only a one credit course that's on Wednesdays but Steve still is dreading it like the plague. He's prepared himself for the pitying look he'll get from the professor and the endless embarrassment that the physical tests will put him through. He walks into class the first day expecting nothing but the worst but ends up being pleasantly surprised. 

Professor Erksine doesn't look like your stereotypical gym teacher, in fact he looks more fitted for a science lab then a weight room. He takes one look at Steve and gives him an encouraging smile. The class isn't that full and most people don't show up anyway so Steve is left with a lot of one on one training time with Erksine. He has him start off small, well aware of his asthma and other physical ailments, but after a slight change in his diet and a newly added gym routine, Steve starts to feel stronger. And apparently there are "late bloomers" and then there's Steve because the parts of puberty that decided to evade him in high school suddenly decided to make an appearance and by the end of sophomore year he is taller than all of his friends and bench pressing twice his old body weight. 

Natasha still ribs him about steroid use and Clint tells him that he should have no problem with the ladies now, to which Sam replies, "or the men" which makes Steve balk in surprise. As it turns out, his friends knew about his preferences long before he did. 

Steve, Natasha and Sam had all managed to score some fake ids, not an entirely difficult feat in New York, and after a night out had collectively decided to crash at Steve's place in Brooklyn because it was closest and the L train was "about as useful as tits on a bull" at that hour, according to Clint. It wasn't until the next morning when Steve woke up early to go to the gym and found Clint already awake, wide eyed and staring at the wall that Steve heard the first complaint.

"Dude you alright?"

Clint let out a squeak and shook his head.

"Bro, I don't know how to say this without sounding completely crazy, but I'm pretty sure you're place is haunted."

Steve let out a laugh and shook his head, pouring water into the back of the coffee maker as he rolled his eyes.

"You sure you're not still drunk, man?"

At this Clint scowled and shook his head.

"Fuck off man, you have no idea what I saw."

Steve rolled his eyes but complied.

"What did you see?"

"I don't fucking know man, but it wasn't natural! I'm freaking out, alright. I woke up and there was this, this, dude standing over me and then he just disappeared into thin air."

"Clint I think you just had a bad dream. Why don't you drink some coffee and calm down."

"No, I'm telling you it wasn't a dream and it wasn't the first time! Don't you ever feel it, fucking all the time I'm over here weird shit happens, something isn't right." 

Steve frowned and thought about the strange things that had been happening to him since high school and shrugged. Sure some of the time there were odd things that happened but that was the way of the world, it didn't mean that his house was haunted for christ sake. 

"Dude I think you should just go home and go to sleep, you're talking crazy."

Clint shook his head and murmured something that Steve couldn't understand before heading towards the front door, giving Steve a short goodbye before leaving him to cook for Sam and Nat who were still asleep. They stumbled in twenty minutes later and Sam was shaking his head back and forth like he was trying to forget something.

"Man I had the weirdest dream last night. And why the hell is it so cold in here Rogers?"

Steve couldn't answer that, the air conditioning had been broken for a week.

 

Steven Rogers didn't believe in ghosts. He didn't believe in ghosts, or curses, or superstitions but recently he was beginning to believe in bad luck. 

Steve had been convinced that college was going to be his time for dating, especially after his remarkable physical transformation, however that wasn't the case. Senior year came and went with Steve's virginity remarkably intact, much to the ribbing of his friends. It wasn't for a lack of trying on his end, he had talked to guys and girls, but none of them seemed to be interested, some of them looked downright terrified at the thought of talking to him. It wasn't until a failed date, right after graduation, that Steve finally snapped. He had really thought that Peggy could be the one, she was smart as a whip, sophisticated and had no problem talking to Steve. When he had asked her out she had given him a smirk with those ruby red lips and nodded, telling him she'd meet him at seven. 

The date had gone remarkably well until Steve had leaned down to give her a goodnight kiss on her doorstep and she had let out a shiver and stepped back, stating that she just had a "feeling" that they would be better off friends. Steve had nodded politely and waited until he got home to beat the shit out of his punching bag, even letting a few tears fall as he convinced himself that he was going to be alone for the rest of his life. He exhausted himself and forewent a shower, choosing to fall into a sweaty heap on top of his comforter and pass out instead. 

The next morning when he was in the shower a cool breeze blew through the curtain causing him to curse and turn the water temperature higher, steam fogging up the small bathroom quickly as he washed himself. When he stepped out of the shower he towel dried his hair before wrapping it around his waist and turning to look in the mirror. He recoiled in shock at what he saw. 

In the fogged up mirror were carefully spelled out letters, clear as day.

"I'm sorry."

Steve blinked as he stared at them, calling out to his mother to ask if she had come into the bathroom while he was showering, a chill ran up his spine when she claimed she hadn't. He quickly reached up to wipe away the writing and left the bathroom as quick as he could, getting the strangely familiar sensation that someone was watching him. 

After what he dubbed as "the bathroom incident" Steve started to take notice of all the strangecomings taking place around him. In a small journal he catalogued every weird feeling, strange touch, or unusual occurrence that happened throughout his day and was shocked at the sheer number of them that he had been blowing off. His final breaking point came when he opened up his journal only to find unfamiliar messy scrawl underneath his.

"Please forgive me."

He dropped the book like it had burned him and let out a shriek that was entirely too high to be coming from someone his size. He tried to think if this was one of his friends playing a joke on him but none of them even knew about the journal and he knew their handwriting almost as well as his own. Steve scurried away from his room and flew out the front door of the apartment like it was on fire. 

He went down to McMurrays, the closest Irish pub and ordered a pint of beer, which he promptly downed, trying to calm his racing heart as he thought of explanations. Did someone have a camera in his room? Was this all part of an elaborate hoax? Was he being punked? He downed two more beers as he thought of any possible explanation and came up with nothing. 

Finally realizing that he could not put it off any longer he trudged back to his apartment, cursing the fact that his mother was on the night shift and wouldn't be back until the morning. He let out a whine when he found the journal placed perfectly on his pillow, not sprawled out on the floor where he left it. He reached for it with a shaking hand and flipped it open to the page with the writing letting out a loud curse when there was more of that messy scrawl.

"Please don't be afraid."

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Fuck no. I can not deal with this shit. I swear to god Natasha if this is some hidden Russian kgb prank then you got me! Congratulations I'm officially freaked the fuck out."

He felt kind of like an idiot when no one answered. He picked up the journal between two fingers, like it was something odious and flung it out of the open window, into the dumpster that sat in the alleyway beneath it. Steve quickly slammed the window shut and turned his back to it, his chest heaving and his heart racing like he'd just run a marathon. He quickly double checked the locks on the doors and all of the windows, making sure they were all done up right before slipping underneath his covers, pulling them over his head and trying to forget everything that happened that day.

Steve dreamed of dark hair and crystal blue eyes, a Brooklyn drawl and a perfectly chiseled jaw line. He dreamt of laughing and kissing and fucking and when he woke up with a hardon he quickly took care of it, choking off his moans as he released onto his stomach. He quickly cleaned up with some tissues and headed out of the room to go shower when something on his desk caught his eye. The journal.

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, turning and leaving the room as he refused to believe what was right in front of him. He stepped into the shower and turned it on as hot as it could go, letting the water burn his skin as he struggled not to think about that damn book in the next room over, or who had been writing in it. 

When he got out of the shower he nearly slipped and cracked his head open at the writing on the mirror.

"Hi Steve!" 

Who ever had written it had even drawn a little smiley face next to his name causing Steve to scowl and quickly bring his hand up to wipe it away. Focusing instead on brushing his teeth as fast as possible before leaning down to spit. When he stood up he let out a scream as the man from his dream was standing right behind him, when he turned around no one was there. 

"Fucking Christ, I swear to god this is the beginning of a horror film."

Steve had never left the house in such a hurry.

When he returned it was to his ailing mother cooking something on the stove top as if nothing in the apartment was amiss. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and set the table as she asked him about his day, it wasn't until they had finished their plates that Steve decided to bring it up with her.

"Hey mom, do you, uh, ever feel anything weird in the apartment?"

His mother looked at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

"Like what?"

"Like something... Supernatural?"

He was expecting her to laugh and tell him that he was being silly, not for her to give him a knowing smile and shrug her shoulders.

"It's an old building."

Steve nodded even though that barely answered his question and Sarah changed the subject. He didn't get a lick of sleep that night, convinced that every grown and creak the old building made was a result of the... He didn't want to call it a ghost just yet. As it would turn out, after the appearance in the mirror he didn't see or hear anything suspicious for the next week, half convinced that he had just made it up in his own mind. 

It wasn't until he managed to find himself in yet another back alley scrum did something happen. He had been at the movie theatre by himself, a habit from his high school days when Steve's friend count was at a restounding zero, when some loudmouth started talking during the previews for Lone Survivor claiming that the story was bullshit, the solider was bullshit, and the whole U.S. military was also in fact bullshit. Steve about had enough after the first sentence but it wasn't until the asshole started spewing off some stuff that would put the Westboro Baptist Church to shame that Steve stepped in. Unfortunately for Steve he didn't realize that the guy had four of his goon friends with him and no matter how great Steve's growth spurt was four on one was still terrible odds. 

It had taken three of the idiots just to hold him down, the dark alleyway providing protection from passerbys as the last guy pounded on Steve. With a last bit of strength he managed to buck one of the assholes off of him and get a solid punch to one of the guys jaws just before a kick to the ribs had him stumbling over face down on the pavement gasping for breath. He braced himself for the next punch but it never came. 

He heard the grunts and yelps of pain coming from his attackers and could help but sigh in relief, still not able to open his eyes as he struggled against his own wounds. He finally heard them running off and managed to force himself to open his eyes so he could properly thank who ever had saved him but when he did no one was there, just a cold chill on the back of his neck that he couldn't bother to think about.

Luckily for him his mom wasn't home so he stumbled his way into the shower, foregoing looking in the mirror and hissing when the hot water ran over the cuts and bruises across his body. He tenderly cleaned himself off and wrapped a towel around his waist, giving his body a once over and concluding that most of the damage was bruising, the few cuts he had sustained had stopped bleeding already. He knew that he shouldn't have been surprised when he glanced up into the mirror to find more writing on it, but he still swore loudly nonetheless. 

"You're an idiot!!!"

Steve was too exhausted and sore to be completely freaked out about it and he even gave a little eye roll at the extra exclamations before quickly wiping it away with his hand. He flopped down on his bed in nothing but his towel and let out a grown at the pain radiating through his body. He let his eyes slip shut as sleep threatened to pull him under, despite the pounding in his head. Right before he was about to fall asleep a voice had him jumping up in fright and scrambling back on his bed.

"You know you shouldn't go to sleep, you might have a concussion."

Steve let out a yell as the man from his dreams, the same one that he caught a glimpse of in the mirror was sitting at the end of his bed, cocky smirk planted on his lips as Steve's jaw dropped and he flung himself off of the bed, looking around for any sort of weapon he could use against the guy that had obviously broken into his house. His only option was his bedside lamp which he ripped from the wall and held out in front of him like a shield, causing the other mans smirk to deepen. 

"What the fuck are you doing in my house! How the hell did you get in here?"

"You know Steve, for someone who just got his ass beat, you shouldn't be looking to drop gloves again so soon."

Steve started sputtering and took a step forward, swinging the lamp to knock out the intruder and stumbled when the man disappeared, turning as he heard laughter from behind him and spinning to see him grinning at him. 

"What, what the fuck!"

The man rolled his eyes at Steve and motioned to the bed.

"Why don't you sit down before you hurt yourself even more punk?"

Steve balked at him and shook his head, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes and groaning, the pounding in his head coming back full force with his impromptu activity. 

"I'm hallucenating."

"Fraid not pal."

Steve glared at the man, thing, who was still in his room and groaned again.

"I have a concussion and I'm actually asleep and this is all a horrible, horrible dream."

"Hey, that's a bit insulting."

Steve jumped as the voice came from right in front of him and the air on the back of his neck stood on end at the chill. The man, ghost, thing, was standing right in front of him looking concerned as he brought his hand up to Steve's shoulder. Steve flinched and braced for the touch but all that he could feel was a slight brush of air on his right shoulder. The guys brow was furrowed and when Steve down he was horrified to see that the brunets hand was going through his shoulder.

He stepped back with a shudder, because seriously? Creepy. The other guy looked confused before letting out a little 'huh' and shrugging his shoulders. At this point Steve's head was pounding and he flopped back onto his bed, only wanting to fall asleep so he could wake up and realize that this had in fact just been a horrible dream.

"Not the best idea pal."

Steve groaned and brought one of his arms up to cover his eyes, waving at the guy at the end of his bed with the other.

"Go away."

"No can do. If you have a concussion you shouldn't go to sleep."

"I have head trauma that is causing me to hallucinate a ghost in my room."

"But at least I'm a sexy ghost!"

Steve flung his arm off of his face and gave the guy a look.

"I'm not having this conversation, this isn't real. And ghosts can't be sexy!"

The ghost gave him an infuriating smirk and cocked his eyebrow.

"Mhm whatever you say."

"This is ridiculous, I'm going to sleep. This is all a figment of my imagination as a result of head trauma and when I wake up you're going to be gone."

"I'm waking you up in an hour so you don't end up like me you stupid punk."

Steve waved his hand but when he opened his eyes the guy was gone, he breathed a sigh of relief and let sleep pull him under once more. 

He was woken up to someone shaking him, making him groan as he blinked his eyes open, the pounding in his head coming back with a vengeance. His mother looked down at him, worry clear as day in her features.

"Jesus Steve, what happened? I got your note."

Steve's mind was still fuzzy and he shook his head to clear it. What note?

"It's nothing mom, just some loudmouths at the movie theatre."

Sarah rolled her eyes and placed a concerned hand across his forehead, pushing his hair off of his bruised face and shaking her head. 

"Oh Steven."

"Sorry mom."

"Here I brought you some ibuprofen and water, sit up and take it. I'll wake you up every hour."

Steve groaned but complied and finally around 4 am he had gotten the all clear to go back to sleep for real. He woke a couple of hours later with a pounding headache and instantly looked around for any other presence in his room, smiling to himself when the early morning light coming through his window showed everything was normal. He went back to sleep for a few hours and found a note in the kitchen informing him that his mom was called into work and wouldn't be home until late. His head was still hurting so he took a few more pain relievers and padded to the couch, flopping down and turning on the television to watch Friends reruns. 

"You know I never agreed with the whole Rachel Joey love interest subplot."

Steve jumped in his seat and let out a groan as the man from the night before was sitting on the couch next to him. 

"Oh come on! What do you want ghost man!"

The ghost man scoffed and stuck his hand out like having a supernatural being hanging around unwanted on your couch was something that people experienced everyday. 

"The names Bucky thank you very much."

Steve stared at the proffered hand like it would burn him if he touched it and the ghost rolled his eyes in return. 

"You're quite dramatic aren't you?"

"Am I dead? Is that what this is? Is this some weird crossing over thing or something?"

The ghost - Bucky - snorted and shook his head.

"Let me rephrase that, very dramatic."

"Can you blame me?" 

Steve's voice edged on hysterical and Bucky let out a laugh and shook his head.

"Yeah I guess if there was a ghost sitting on my couch it would have freaked me out too."

"Are you actually a ghost or are you just some like awesome special affects guy or something."

The grin Bucky gave him was maniacal and he pushed himself off the couch.

"Let's see shall we," and with that he levitated off the floor and disappeared into thin air. 

"Fuck."

"You've got quite the mouth on you."

Steve jumped as the voice came from right beside him and he turned to find Bucky standing to the side of the couch, standing in the middle of the side table like it wasn't even there. He then proceeded to walk forward, through the side of the couch, and Steve, before bringing his legs up and curling himself up like he hadn't just walked through two pieces of furniture and a person.

"Ew oh god don't ever do that again!"

Steve shivered and Bucky laughed at him.

"I still don't think this is real."

"Yeah well better get used to it."

"Wait, so how'd you die?"

At his question Bucky frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought about it. His face finally fell and he shrugged.

"Not sure."

For some reason, his answer made Steve incredibly sad and he found himself wanting to reach out and place a comforting hand on his knee, which was ridiculous of course. 

"Well why are you here?"

He got another shrug.

"Hell if I know. All I remember is nothingness and then there I was in your house seven years ago."

"Wait, did you say seven years? You've been haunting my apartment for seven fucking years!"

If ghosts could blush the look on Bucky's face told him he would be.

"Whoops?"

"Dude what the hell! Wait a minute it all makes sense now, all those weird things that happened, the weird feelings. Wait a minute! The toaster fire?"

Bucky looked seriously unimpressed at the mention of it and he shook his head.

"You sure are stupid sometimes Stevie." 

Steve pushed himself off of the couch and paced furiously, pulling on his hair and trying to recount all the times that the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach had actually been Buckys presence. 

"When it was cold in the summer even though the ac was broken, the time that Clint woke up and saw someone standing in front of him, windows and doors opening and closing, the tv miraculously breaking during the middle of The Notebook!"

At this Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, that movie sucks."

Steve let out a yell of frustration. 

"Jesus Christ Bucky! You can't just do things like that!"

"I'm a supernatural being I can do whatever I want."

"You're a supernatural pain in my ass! Why don't you go haunt someone else."

"I can't."

"What'd you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't okay? For some reason you got stuck with me alright?"

Steve shook his head and fell back down to the couch, his mind thinking a mile a minute. 

"Can anyone else see you?"

"If I want them to."

"Why can't you touch people?" 

"I could before, I don't know why I can't now. Or did you not see me save your ass from those guys?"

Steve ignored him and his face lit up.

"Wait a minute, I've seen movies like this before. The ghost always has like unfinished business or something, like in Casper!"

He got another unimpressed look in return.

"Seriously, out of all the movies you could have gone with and pick Casper?" 

"Shut up I'm serious. You probably just have unfinished business you need to take care of and then you can like pass on or whatever."

"That's all well and good, except for the fact that I don't remember anything genius. How am I supposed to settle whatever score I have to when I don't even know what it is? And to think, you graduated with honors."

Steve glared at him and really fought the urge to deck the guy.

"Yeah well I don't see you coming up with any ideas jerk."

Bucky smirked and shrugged his shoulders, leaning back on the couch and splaying his arms out along the back of it.

"No idea, but why don't we just enjoy it while it lasts. Let's put on a movie."

"What? Dude you can't just come waltzing in here like you own the place and expect me to act like this is normal."

When he looked at Bucky he was gone and he jumped as the tv flicked on and the intro to Saving Private Ryan came on the screen. He rolled his eyes and tried really hard not to jump when Buckys voice rang in his ear.

"Boo!"

Steve glared at him causing Bucky to laugh.

"That's not funny."

Steve stayed silent during the first few minutes of the movies, trying to think back on all the odd occurrences that had happened to him in the last seven years, and boy had there been a bunch, one thought had all the blood draining from his face as he turned to look at Bucky. 

"Wait, the times with the mirror, and the shower... Have you seen me naked?!"

His voice rose with hysteria at the end and Bucky shot him a lewd grin, waggling his eyebrows as Steve's cheeks flushed red.

"Trust me when I tell you, you got nothin to be ashamed about Rogers."

Steve halfheartedly tried to suffocate himself with a pillow. 

 

The next month definitely qualified as the most surreal of Steve's life. He got a low level job at an animation company in Manhattan, his mother's health took a turn for the worse and his ghost friend was actually starting to grow on him. Steve came home from work everyday and ate dinner with his ailing mother, his heart breaking as he watched her strength leave her before his very eyes. Bucky had actually turned into his preverbal shoulder to cry on, listening to Steve's worries about her health and eventually being there for Steve when the doctor had told them that there was nothing more they could do.

That night Steve had put his mother to bed, listened stoically as she had comforted him and then proceeded to cry himself to sleep in his room. He woke up a few hours later, his eyes gritty and his voice hoarse to Bucky sitting next to him looking pained. 

"I'm sorry Stevie."

His words made a lump form in Steve's throat and Steve rubbed at his eyes and nodded. 

"I wish," Bucky shook his head and gave Steve a pleading look. "I wish I could hold you right now."

Steve gave him a watery smile and nodded his head, burying it into his pillow.

"Me too Buck." 

They laid side by side on Steve's bed, staring at each other as tears streamed down Steve's face. Bucky waited silently as Steve's sniffles got louder and more frequent before his let out a broken whine and his face crumpled. 

"It's not fair."

If Bucky still had a heart it broke with Steve's words. He instinctively reached out to brush a hand through Steve's hair and made a frustrated sound when it just went right through him. Since he had shown himself to Steve he hadn't been able to touch him, and he was finding that more and more frustrating.

"I know Steve, I know."

He didn't tell him that it was going to be okay, or give him any false reassurances, he simply laid next to him and let him cry until he finally passed out from exhaustion again, and all Bucky could think of is what he wouldn't give to be alive again.

Sara Rogers passed away on a cool February day, peacefully in the apartment that she had raised her son in. Steve managed to hold it together enough to make all the necessary preparations but lost his cool the moment that Nat walked through the door to his empty apartment. Unlike Bucky, she had been able to hold him, stroking her fingers through his hair and letting him cry into her chest like a child as she whispered encouraging words and helped him make the final few phone calls while Bucky watched on, invisible and helpless in the corner. 

Sam and Clint showed up for the service, the former looking extremely jet lagged from the 20 hour flight from Auckland, but they stood with him and showed their support as Steve's mom was lowered into the cold hard ground.

Steve stayed at the gravesite well after the service, staring down at the coffin that held his mother as Nat let him know they'd be waiting in the car. He didn't know how long he stood there, but his face and hands were numb by the time Bucky spoke next to him. 

"I'm sorry Stevie."

Steve's face crumpled and he brought a gloved hand up to wipe at his nose.

"Me too Buck."

They stood together in silence as the frosty February air blew around them.

"Is she gonna, you know, be like you?"

Buckys heart broke at the hint of hope in Steve's voice at the possibility of seeing his mom again and he shook his head.

"I don't think that's how it works pal. But I think wherever she is, she's happy."

Steve scoffed and shook his head.

"How could you possibly know that."

"Hey come on look at me! I know more about the other side than you pal."

It managed a hint of a smile but Bucky still sighed.

"It's just something I know, okay. Like this feeling, that when I finally sort out what I need to here, what's waiting for me is just... It's paradise."

Steve smiled a little at then and Bucky shrugged.

"Don't ask me how I know, call it ghost instinct." 

"Thanks for coming Buck."

Bucky grinned and shook his head.

"You know your friends probably think you're crazy right now talking to air and all."

Steve let out a laugh and headed back to the car, giving Bucky a sad grin over his shoulder.

"See you back at the apartment?"

"See ya then."

The month following his mothers death had been the worst. 

Steve had returned from work before his leave of absence had ended, claiming that he needed something to take his mind off of everything. He threw himself into his work, getting there early and staying well past when was required out of him. When he returned to an empty apartment he had turned to alcohol to put him to sleep, disregarding Buckys warnings against it and telling his friendly ghost to get lost. Of course Bucky had ignored him and instead managed to make his hangovers so miserable that Steve really wished that he was a living being, just so he could deck him. 

Steve knew that Bucky was just trying to look out for him, with his friends all returning to their own lives there was no one to make sure that Steve was looking after himself, but Steve had finally had enough. They were once again arguing over Steve taking care of himself when Steve had snapped.

"Who the fuck do you think you are anyway! I don't know why the hell you insist on bothering me, I can take care of myself. You aren't even fucking real and I don't need you!"

From the look on his face, stabbing Bucky in the heart would have been less painful. Steve expected him to yell back, as he usually did but Bucky remained silent as the grave, which Steve would have found the irony in had it been any other situation. Steve's words hit him when Bucky finally nodded once and then just disappeared into thin air, leaving a sinking sensation in Steve's stomach as he looked around his empty apartment. He had never felt so lonely in all of his life. 

The following weeks were torture for Steve, he hadn't realized how reliant he had become on Buckys presence, no mater how far fetched it may be he considered Bucky a friend, maybe even his best friend and now he was gone, their odd friendship ruined in a fit of stupidity on Steve's part. 

He had pleaded with thin air for Bucky to come back, had apologized over and over until his throat was raw and his eyes were red, but his apartment was still as empty as ever, devoid of the prescience that Steve hadn't realized was there for all those years until now it was gone. 

And Steve realized just how truly alone he really was. 

Steve managed to pull himself out of whatever depressing funk he had managed to fall into, those extra hours he had logged at work hadn't gone unnoticed by his boss and he was on a fast track for a nice promotion. It had been three months since he had seen Bucky and part of Steve despaired that he had finally "crossed over" or whatever term he wanted to place on it. He felt selfish for his thoughts, knowing that Bucky deserved to be happy wherever it was the next life would take him to. 

It wasn't until Steve had come home late one night, exhausted but unable to sleep that Bucky finally made a reappearance. Steve had laid down on his bed, tossing and turning willing to let sleep overtake him but frustratingly unable to pass out. He had lit some of the lavender candles that Natasha had bought him, claiming that they eased stress and let his eyes drop while Billie Holiday played in the background, giving no thought to the fact that one of the candles was sitting on his wooden nightstand directly underneath a paper lampshade. 

Steve jolted awake to the sound of the smoke detector and the smell of smoke, someone cursing up a blue streak as the small fire on his nightstand withered away to nothing.

"Are you fucking kidding me punk! What are you trying to do get yourself killed? Stupid little asshole!"

Steve couldn't help his grin as Bucky stood next to his bed, swearing up and down, glare planted firmly on his face as he looked at Steve as if he wanted to beat him over the head. Steve could only feel a little bit sheepish, more glad than anything that his friend was back.

"Sorry Buck."

Bucky glared at him some more and eyed the charred nightstand with thinly veiled distaste, cutting a glare to the still blaring smoke detector before the noise cut off.

"I swear to god Rogers, I think they put me here just to make sure you wouldn't end up killing yourself."

Steve smiled at him before the grin fell off of his face as he remembered the last time they had talked, and the hateful things Steve had said.

"I'm glad you're back Buck."

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him a cool look, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked to where Steve was still sitting up in bed.

"Yeah well, couldn't exactly leave you to burn to death. Then I'd have to put up with you in this life too and I'm not sure my fragile ego could handle that abuse."

Steve grimaced and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I - I didn't mean any of those things I said. It ain't an excuse but I was in a real bad place and I know you were just trying to help. I'm sorry."

Bucky still regarded him cooly so Steve pushed himself up off the bed and came around to where Bucky was standing, momentarily forgetting that he couldn't touch Bucky and making a frustrating sound when his arms went right through the man, causing Bucky to raise an amused eyebrow.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

Steve laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Well, I was trying to give you a hug you jerk. Forgot about the whole ghost thing for a sec."

Bucky's gaze turned warm at his words and he let out a little laugh shaking his head and giving Steve a smile.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a sap, Rogers?" 

Steve fondly rolled his eyes in return a sense of peace settling over him as he got back onto the bed, Bucky laying down next to him and talking to him until he fell asleep.

It was the night of Steve's 24th birthday and he still hadn't gotten laid. Clint and Nat had driven up from DC and some of his friends from work were coming over to celebrate with a rooftop party and Fourth of July fireworks. Well, as parties normally do, a few friends turned into a few dozen and by nine o'clock Steve was well and truly drunk from the birthday shots that people kept forcing on him. He was sprawled out in a lawn chair, laughing along at a story that one of his coworkers brothers was telling, his drunken mind following the tan line of his jaw and his mouth watering at the thought of what it might taste like under his lips. 

The guy, Brock, was obviously picking up on Steve's thoughts and shot him a rakish grin, leaning over the lawn chair and asking Steve if he wanted another beer, his large hand warm on Steve's thigh. Steve could only nod dumbly causing Brock to smile and lick his lips, glancing back and forth between Steve's eyes and mouth. Steve could swear that he was leaning in for a kiss when the first firework went off, the loud bang echoing out as everyone let out a cry of joy. Brock shot him a smile that held a promise for later and Steve shuddered in his chair, glancing up at the firework display and wondering if tonight was the night when he would, finally, get laid. 

The fireworks went on and on, lighting up the Brooklyn night sky in a wonderful display of colors and loud bangs, everyone cheered at the grand finale and the next thing Steve knew he was blowing out candles on a birthday cake that Nat had appeared with, glancing up right before he blew them out and meeting Bucky's grin across the rooftop. When Clint told him to make a wish he held Bucky's gaze and blew, knowing exactly what he was wishing for. 

The night continued with more booze and merriment to the point where Steve was listing into Brock's side, his arm sturdy around him as he whispered things into his ear that made him blush. He was seeing double and the world was tilting on its axis so when Brock recommended that they go inside Steve agreed with a murmur, allowing him to practically carry Steve back to his apartment. 

Steve faded in and out of conciousness, not fighting Brock as he stripped him of all his clothing and laid him down on his bed. He groaned when Brock's lips met his own, not out of pleasure but because the wave of nausea that hit him. He tried to push Brock off of him but the man was insistent, kissing down Steve's throat as Steve struggled to stay awake.

"Mm sleepy," Steve slurred, instantly being shushed as Brock's hands ran up his sides. "Maybe we do this tomorrow."

His words sounded slurred even to his own ears and he tried to push the older man off of him with no success.

"Oh come on Steve, you've been teasing me all night. You know you want it baby."

Steve was hit with another wave of drunken naseua but before he could respond another voice filled the room, filled with venom as it addressed Brock.

"He said no you asshole."

Steve could barely make out Brock glaring at Bucky and he let out a drunken smile, his head lolling to one side on the bed.

"Hey Buck."

"Who the hell are you?" 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Brock and crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

"I'm the guy that's gonna kick your ass if you don't leave in the next two seconds."

With his words Steve let out a groan and rolled to the side of the bed, letting out a heave and throwing up everything he had drank during the course of the night into the garbage can next to his nightstand. Brock let out a scoff and walked out of the room.

"He's all yours pal."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the man and wished he could drop gloves with him more than anything. He went to Steve's side and shook his head as Steve rolled back over onto the bed and let out a groan, sitting down next to him and wishing, not for the first time, that he could offer him some physical comfort. Steve smiled blearily up at him and reached out for his hand, groaning when it passed right through it.

"Why'd you go for an asshole like that Stevie?"

Steve grumbled something and rolled over, blinking up at him once and giving him a tired drunken smile.

"Because I can't have you, Buck."

Bucky swore as Steve's eyes closed and wished, more than anything, that things were different.


End file.
